


Love Is Not A Victory March

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: AH Kings Big Bang 2018, Multi, minecraft au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: The kingdom is peaceful. King Jack and his court are simple, easygoing folk, with no more cruelty in them than the summer breeze.The curse is irreversible. Ugly and old and sweetly, horrifyingly ironic.The rules are simple. Each time you give a little, the curse takes a little from you.The only question is: how long do you have left?





	Love Is Not A Victory March

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Hallelujah' by Leonard Cohen.

It’s the same stone as the castle walls, in some sort of fitting irony, the stone creeping up Jack’s fingers, just touching his knuckles. The latest ravages are from Gavin’s birthday, from the gifts Jack made.

Jack knew what the curse was the moment his fingertips turned to stone.

He flexes his fingers, turns his hand to study them in the faint sunlight streaming through his window, scattering across his desk. They bend and fold with nary a protest, just as limber and fluid as flesh, but Jack knows it’s only a matter of time before it starts to harden. He doesn’t know how long the curse takes – weeks, months, years, decades? - but he knows it’s set in deep within him, can feel it tugging phantom at his lungs, at his ribs, faux-heavy with the knowledge, and he wonders how long until it starts twisting up his chest and burrowing into his heart, how long until it completely takes over –

“Jack!” A knock and a voice calls through the door, startling Jack from his stupor. He grins at the sound of impatient Geoff, and pulls on his glove just as Geoff knocks again.

“Okay!” Jack calls back, sweeping his papers into a mimicry of order before he stands to unlock the door, greeted with a smiling, but exhausted Geoff on the other side.

Geoff’s lopsided smile cracks into a grin when he sees Jack, and there’s still dirt streaked up his forearm when he extends a hand. He’s dishevelled from his day in the garden – probably still fussing over those chickens – and still in common trappings, from the loose linen shirt to the well-worn boots, dulled buckles on soft leather.

“You comin’ to dinner or not?” He asks. Jack laughs and slips his ungloved hand into Geoff’s to let him lead him out.

“You haven’t even cleaned up yet,” Jack teases, brushing a leaf out of Geoff’s hair.

“You think I’m bad, you should see Michael,” Geoff replies, with a mischievous smirk that tells Jack there’s _definitely_ been some shenanigans on the farm today.

“What have you done to him?” Jack sighs, mock-exasperated, and Geoff barks out a bright, happy laugh that lights up the hallway more than the torches.

“Wasn’t me,” Geoff laughs, raking a hand through his hair as they approach the dining hall – Jack can hear friendly bickering from the other side of the grand wooden doors, and the familiar, heart-warming peals of laughter.

“Gavin?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Gavin,” Geoff confirms, his shoulders still shaking with laughter as he pushes one of the doors open.

\-- 

“’Kay but like, you could make a _huge_ one,” Gavin says, leaning back to drop more berries in Jeremy’s bowl.

“What use would _that_ be?” Jeremy asks, yanking leaves out of the way to delve deeper in the bush.

“He’s compensating!” Michael calls from where he’s standing guard, tossing a grin back over his shoulder at Gavin’s offended noise.

“Quite a lot, as well,” Ryan jibes – Geoff and Jack break out into loud laughter, rustling the bush between them as Gavin splutters.

“It would be fun!” Gavin protests.

“Hey Jeremy, did you need red berries as well?” Geoff asks, lifting up a bunch.

“No, but you can eat those,” Jeremy replies.

“You sure?”

“Eh, pretty sure.”

“I like your confidence,” Geoff jokes, and bites into the bunch of berries, juice dribbling down his fingers to fill in the space between his tattoos – Jack rolls his eyes and Geoff giggles before leaning over to smack a deliberate kiss to Jack’s cheek – surely bright red as well, and indeed, when Jack playfully slaps him away and touches it, his fingers come away crimson, his partners laughing goodnaturedly around him.

“Zombie!” Michael calls, and then a moment later – “Nevermind, dumbass went into the sun.” And distantly they hear the pained gargling of the undead. A _thwack_ thuds softly through the air and the gargling stops suddenly, and Jack lifts his gaze just in time to see Ryan lowering his bow.

“Put him out of his misery,” Ryan says with a shrug, glancing at Michael.

They’re acting on guard while the rest of them help Jeremy gather potion ingredients – not very hard work, but fun nonetheless. And certainly _messy_ – Jack’s tunic is already splashed with berry juices, and no one else is looking much better.

But it’s joyful, and it passes the time, and Jack almost forgets about the new heaviness in his gloved hand as he trades jokes with his partners, bandies about insults and praise alike, and revels in the gleeful sounds of their laughter and their voices, and all the different ways Gavin can screech his name when he’s pelted in the face with a fat red berry that explodes all over him.

\-- 

“Aw, shit,” Jeremy says, hunched over his spellbook and frowning.

“What?” Jack asks, looking up from his work – he’s deepening the runes on Jeremy’s altar so there’s less chance of a spell mishap, if the runes aren’t deep enough for them to register.

“I need Elder blood for this,” Jeremy says, his mouth twisting. “I’ll have to go out west for that.”

“Elder blood? What, like the Elder Wizard?”

“Yeah. Or descended from, but they all live out west, so.” He looks dejected, a slump to his shoulders now, and glances forlornly at the bubbling cauldron.

Jack sets down his hammer and chisel and thinks for a moment. The potion hisses and pops under its heat, and the lid clangs against the edge.

“How closely?” Jack asks. Jeremy looks up at him, raises an eyebrow.

“Like, how close to the Elder do you need?”

“Any should work,” Jeremy says, glances back at the book. “This says the Elder’s blood but it’s an old book, before the Elder had descendants. At least, any of age.”

“You can use mine,” Jack says, and Jeremy’s head whips around. “I’m related. Way, _way_ back, but yeah.”

“I didn’t know – ”

“It’s dormant in my family branch,” Jack continues. “We’re not wizards, but we’re still – if it’ll work for the potion, you can have some.”

“I – It should work, yeah,” Jeremy says, nodding, flipping the page. “I only need a few drops – although maybe more if it’s diluted through descendants – ”

“Take as much as you need,” Jack says. Jeremy locks eyes with him and Jack gestures to the knife by the bowl of crushed berries.

“Give me that,” Jack says, and Jeremy pushes the bowl and knife over as Jack stands, coming around the altar to stand beside Jeremy.

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s no trouble,” Jack assures Jeremy, steadying the knife in his hand,laying the blade across his left palm. Jeremy pauses for a second, then leans up to press a fleeting kiss to Jack’s jaw.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and Jack smiles, and draws the knife across his palm.

Jack’s right forearm tightens up with stone just as the first drops fall, and he winces – Jeremy rests a hand on his back, a healing salve ready in his other hand, but it’s not the cut that makes Jack hiss.

Jeremy gently takes the knife away a few moments later and turns Jack’s hand to press the salve over it, and Jack smiles, curling his fingers around Jeremy’s as his other arm grows heavy up to the elbow. Andfor once he’s glad he’s wearing thick sleeves so Jeremy can’t see.

“You really didn’t have to,” Jeremy repeats, and Jack shakes his head, squeezing Jeremy’s hand while his skin knits back together.

“I wanted to,” he replies, and brushes his nose against Jeremy’s cheek. “I hope it works.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jeremy says with a little laugh. “Don’t wanna make you bleed for nothing.”

\-- 

“Aw, shit!”

“What happened?” Jack asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Missed,” Ryan replies, lowering his bow with a sigh. The bird caws as it flies away.

“Next time,” Jack says, looking down at the map. “Now did Geoff say it was west or north?”

“West,” Ryan says, stowing his bow on his back to peer over at the map. Jack notes, with a careful eye, the weary strain of the cracking wood, the fraying edges of the string.

“How much longer?” Ryan adds.

“Not long, Jack replies, striding forward to continue their path. Ryan falls into easy step beside him, gently nudging Jack’s shoulder to catch his attention. Jack glances over, and Ryan smiles, in that soft, quiet way of his that Jack loves.

\-- 

Jack’s grateful for the sander they made years ago, with granite grindstone and iron binds. It eases the strain on his slowly stiffening arms as he runs the wood through, smoothing out the shape and rounding off the edges.

The string he dips in unbreakable potion, and it glistens faintly purple as he threads it carefully through the ends of the bow, plucks it idly to see it warble in the lamplight. His shoulder twinges with stone and he ignores it, glancing briefly out the window of the workshop to the castle just a few metres away, to the warm, golden light splashing from the windows to spill on the verdant grass. He can see shadows behind sheer curtains, hear familiar laughter from the banquet hall, and just the sound makes him feel a little lighter.

Jack slides his foot off the pedal and lifts the bow onto his lap, feeling carefully over it to check for jagged edges – there are none, and the satisfaction comes with a heaviness that weighs down Jack’s left arm.

It’s worth it, he knows.

He polishes Ryan’s new bow until it shines, and takes up his hammer and chisel to start carving Ryan’s name into the inside – his final touch before he starts up making some new arrows for Ryan to test with the new bow.

By dawn, all of Jack’s left arm is stone.

\-- 

“Hey, watch out!” Michael yanks Gavin back by his shirt as lava rushes at them, pouring from the new crack Gavin made in the cave wall – Jack hurries to stop the leak with rocks and mortar, building it up to give them more of a buffer as Michael and Gavin bicker lightly behind him.

“Jesus, Gavin, gonna get us all burnt,” Jack sighs, wiping his gloves on his trousers.

“Ah, it’s not  _that_ bad,” Gavin says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Jus’ a little lava.”

“Well, next time, _you_ can fix it,” Michael mutters, but the fond hand curling around Gavin’s shoulder betrays his false annoyance. Jack shares a grin with him and Gavin reaches up to squeeze Michael’s hand before wiggling away to keep mining.

“Still trying to find diamond?” Jack calls, turning back to his own spot.

“You know it!” Gavin shouts back, and soon the din of pickaxes drowns them all out – except for Michael’s version of sea shanties; loud, off-tune singing that he times with his swings. It sends Gavin into fits of laughter and Jack into giggles, gathering enough breath to sing along with the shoddy chorus while he carves out a path in the cave.

\-- 

Later, they return to the castle with their arms full of new treasures – iron, gold, rare lapis, and a few nuggets of the even rarer diamond that Gavin did eventually manage to find, but not after a lava incident that singed half of Jack’s clothes. Gavin’s still bubbling out apologies on their way back, but Jack is far too amused by it to be actually angry.

“Dumbass,” Michael says, while Gavin picks at Jack’s singed tunic.

“So, Gavin, what you gonna make with your diamond?” Jack asks, nodding to the nuggets cradled in Gavin’s elbow.

“Oh, pickaxe,” Gavin says easily.

“I don’t think you have enough for a pickaxe,” Michael points out, peering over to see. “Yeah, you’re a couple short.”

“No, I – ah, shit,” Gavin sighs, shoulders dropping a little. “Guess I’ll make a shovel, then.”

“Could make a hoe,” Jack jokes, laughing at the look Gavin gives him. “Help Geoff with the farm.”

“I’ve been banned from the farm,” Gavin says matter-of-factly. “For now, anyway.”

“What did you do,” Jack deadpans.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault!”

“Mhmm,” Michael agrees, sarcastically.

“It wasn’t! Geoff didn’t tell me he had a fire chicken!”

“And we all know how you are with fire,” Jack adds, and the protests continue from there.

\-- 

“How’s it going?”

“Slow,” Gavin replies from the forge, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He lifts his gaze to Jack, cracking a grin as Jack descends the steps into the metalworks. “Decided on shovel, though.”

“You want a potion for it?” Jack asks, coming to a stop by the molten diamond.

“Nah,” Gavin replies. “Not worth it.”

“You really wanted a pickaxe, didn’t you?”

“Eh, next time,” Gavin shrugs, but Jack can see the remnants of disappointment in the corners of his mouth. It’s not often they get a solid day of mining, even rarer to hit so much ore in one sitting, even if it wasn’t quite enough for a pickaxe.

Jack glances at Gavin’s iron pickaxe resting on the floor – the wood’s cracking, and the iron’s worn dull; it hasn’t got long to go.

“Here,” Jack says, and reaches behind him to unhook a pickaxe from his belt, bringing it around to offer to Gavin. It’s an old pickaxe, one he hasn’t used much; one he picked up years ago from one of Geoff’s fishing days and never got around to using.

“Jack,” Gavin says, eyes glued to the diamond in Jack’s gloved hands. “I – I can’t.”

“It’s got protection and unbreakable enchantments,” Jack adds. “Advanced shit.”

“I really can’t,” Gavin protests. “It’s yours.”

“Yours now,” Jack insists, pushing it towards him. Gavin’s fingers hesitate in mid-air as he reaches out to touch it, running his fingertips carefully across the flat of it.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, glancing up at Jack again.

“Yeah,” Jack says.

“Might lose it,” Gavin says, quietly. “No, you keep it.”

“Gavin, I haven’t used it in ages,” Jack says. But he lowers it, and steps closer. “I want you to have it.”

“C’mon - ”

“It doesn’t matter if you lose it,” Jack continues, using a stiff finger to gently tip Gavin’s chin up to him. “It’s just gathering dust; at least you’d be using it.”

“Okay,” Gavin says, his lips twitching up in a smile, and the step back Jack takes feels suddenly so much heavier.

Gavin takes the pickaxe and leans in to press a kiss to Jack’s cheek when he does, whispering a _thank you_ to him that makes Jack’s heart squeeze in his chest.

“Of course,” Jack murmurs, wrapping an arm around Gavin’s back to embrace him swiftly – and then slowly, basking in the gentle, familiar heat.

\-- 

It’s a lonely night when Jack’s wandering the halls, his footfalls heavier than before, his fingers not longer able to curl into tight balls in his pockets.

The torches burn low on the walls, almost everyone settled down to bed by now.

Everyone except Jack.

He can’t sleep. Every time he shuts his eyes his lungs tighten and ash chokes him and he can’t breathe _can’t breathe_ and everything feels like stone even though he can still feel his heart beating but he knows it’s not for long and he knows there’s some truth to the nightmares.

The curse is inside him now, he knows. He can feel it, in odd moments, that his ribs are tighter, that he can’t quite turn as smoothly, that sometimes a breath is heavier than his footsteps, and if he focuses he can feel the rivulets of stone creeping up the inside of his throat as well, roughening his voice even worse in the slice of time between awake and asleep.

He doesn’t really know how to start to say goodbye but he knows he has to.

He passes Ryan’s room. Jeremy’s room. Michael’s. Geoff’s. Gavin’s. All with their little personalisations on the doors – carved names, or small paintings, little decorations stuck on there as jokes, as real, as reminders of something.

Jack stops in front of his own door and sighs, and brushes stone fingertips over the carving of his name at the top arch that Jeremy chiselled in years ago.

He can’t even feel the grooves of it anymore.

\-- 

Even though the sun is out, Jack’s had to take to wearing more now, to hide the grey creeping up his torso now, the stone peeking out under his collar unless he’s buttoned up all the way. He turns to leather gloves instead of cloth, and his fingers ache to bend around the bow, and with a sinking feeling that has nothing to do with stone, Jack knows this is one of his last outings.

Michael grunts as he jumps again, trying to swipe an apple from the tree but he’s just a bit short – the apple swings temptingly, shaken slightly by the rush of air but no more than that.

“I have snacks, Michael, if you want,” Jack points out, gesturing to his pouch.

“This is a point of pride, now, Jack,” Michael says, hopping up to climb the tree – Jack chuckles and leans against a birch to watch Michael monkey over to the apple.

Like a punch to the chest – or a rock to the face, rather – Jack realises this is one of the last moments.

He tries his best to memorise it, down to the crystalline detail of Michael’s smile, of his muttered obscenities as he crawls – the shout when the branch sways, and dips, but doesn’t break, and the way the worn leather straps of Michael’s pouch stretch across his back and shoulders, and the glittering mischief in his eyes when he glances at Jack, and the eager twitch of his whole body as he extends an arm and stretches, stretches – _grasps_ the apple with a triumphant cry, twisting it off its stem with a quick _crunch_ , and Jack closes his eyes for a moment to memorise the happy trill of Michael’s laughter in that one single second.

And below the melody of that, Jack hears something else – a _crunch rattle_ that isn’t Michael or the tree or the apple –

Jack’s eyes snap open and he lunges forward just as the skeleton shoots – his stone arm deflects the arrow, and Michael falls from the tree in surprise, scrambling to his feet as Jack draws his sword to beat the skeleton back, forcing him into the sunlight to burn to ash.

“Holy shit,” Michael pants, both of them staring at the pile of dust. “Where – He hit you, where – Jack, are you - ” Friendly hands land on Jack’s arm, trying to tug at the fabric, and Jack yanks his arm away, reflexively cradling it to his chest. But it doesn’t even sting from the arrow.

“Jack, he _hit_ you, I saw it, let me help - ”

“It’s okay,” Jack says, lifting his arm to show Michael the clean fabric, no blood. “I drank a protection potion before wecame out,” he lies, and Michael’s eyebrows furrow together.

“Always get into a scrape with you,” Jack jokes before Michael can say anything about the odd excuse. He grins and gestures to the ash. “Figured it was time to start actually being prepared for it.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Geoff,” Michael laughs, although he still drops a concerned glance to Jack’s arm.

“He’s onto something, then,” Jack quips, and straightens to keep walking. Michael hesitates but follows, and Jack hears the apple crunch between his teeth a moment later.

“Worth it?” Jack asks – Michael moans exaggeratedly around his mouthfuland nods, apple juice dripping down his chin.

“Abso’ute’y,” he says, and Jack tries to memorise all the little details in Michael’s face while stone crawls across his chest.

\-- 

They’ve left the others with dessert, celebrating joyously in the banquet room while Jack and Geoff walk into the giant throne room, Geoff flushed from wine and cheer and trails of laughter following them in before the banquet room door shuts completely, leaving them in mostly silence. They can still hear traces of chatter, bursts of laughter, but Geoff just slips a hand into Jack’s and squeezes gently.

Jack can’t feel it, but he squeezes back as much as he can anyway.

He casts his gaze to the throne room for the last time – to the blazing torches, to the rich carpet, to the glittering gold throne that Geoff built so many years ago, missing a few jewels and scuffed at the edges and so achingly, comfortingly familiar. There’s prizes on the walls – commemorations, almost, picture frames with weapons and potions and clothing in them, from enchanted water to mithril chestplates. A collection of their triumphs, and not many of those from battle, but rather from exploration, from crafting. All their achievements, laid out on display like a walk down memory lane.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Geoff asks, tugging gently on Jack’s arm to bring him back to the present. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Oh, right,” Jack says, a little sadly. He sucks in a breath.

He’s left letters on his desk for all of them. A sort of goodbye, because he couldn’t get up the courage to say it to their faces and now it’s – well, now it’s too late.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jack continues. “About – the kingdom.”

“Not having second thoughts about title, are you?” Geoff quips, but his smile falls when Jack doesn’t give more than a huff of laughter. “Because you’re a great king, Jack, the people love you. _We_ love you.”

“Was,” Jack says quietly, dropping his gaze.

“What?”

“Was. A great king.”

“Jack, what – what are you – ”

Instead of a reply, Jack just pulls his hand out of Geoff’s. And tugs off the glove. And pushes up the sleeve.

Geoff’s eyes widen in horror at the sight, but a flicker of recognition tells Jack all he needs to know.

“Jack, why – why didn’t you tell me?” Geoff breathes, laying his hands on Jack’s unfeeling arm. “Why didn’t – ”

“You know there’s no cure,” Jack says. “I didn’t want to – I dunno. Didn’t think it’d take over this quick.”

“Of course it would, for you,” Geoff says, glancing up at him. “You’re the most generous guy I know.”

“Thought you always said you were,” Jack jokes. Geoff smiles at the tease, but it doesn’t last.

“Yeah, but not compared to you,” Geoff says, a sad little twinge in his voice that Jack so badly wants to erase but he can’t.

“You should’ve told us,” Geoff says quietly.

“I’m sorry, Jack says, and means it. He gently presses his gloved hand to Geoff’s cheek, and touches their foreheads together. “I’m sorry, Geoff, I didn’t – I didn’t know it would be this _quick_ , I thought – I thought – ”

“How much?” Geoff asks. “How much to go?”

Jack just shakes his head, and closes his eyes, and Geoff pulls him in for a hug that lasts for a very long time.

Jack pulls away, just enough to lift the crown from his head, and he can feel his heart slowing even as he offers it up in the scant space between them.

“I want you to have it,” he says, and he’s not just talking about the crown, but about the kingdom.

“I – Jack, I – I – c’mon, man,” Geoff says, but he can’t argue. They both know that.

“Please,” Jack whispers, his voice raspy from his stony throat. “I trust you.”

And the moment Geoff’s fingers touch that crown, Jack’s entire body turns to stone.

“ - hey! What’s taking so long?” As the banquet room doors fling open, and a hush falls over the group when they see Jack.

Geoff glances back over his shoulder at them, stopped in the doorway like statues.

“What – What happened – ”

“Jack, he’s – ”

“Geoff – ”

And the questions overlap and mingle and Jeremy’s the first to come forward and the second to touch the statued Jack and the third person to ever see Geoff cry. There’s denial, from Michael, attempt at reassurance, from Ryan, bewilderment, from a shocked-quiet Gavin, and Geoff’s tongue feels like cotton and his fingers like the stone that swallowed Jack and there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that hopes they can find a cure, a reverse, _anything_ , but logic and history tell of nothing, and nothing, and nothing.

With shaking fingers, Geoff puts on the crown.

It feels wrong.

It’ll feel wrong for a while.

It’ll feel wrong, and then it’ll feel okay, and maybe they’ll find a fix and maybe they won’t, but they all know the rules of the curse. Every time you give a little, it takes a little from you.

And there’s no fix for kindness.

**Author's Note:**

> With art by the lovely and amazing Tyler [here](http://wtf-is-with-this-girl.tumblr.com/post/178690299512/my-art-for-ahroyalcourt-bigbang-for-the-fic-love)! Thank you so much, Tyler, it looks AWESOME <3!


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